Breakthrough (The Red Gambit Series) (72 page)

“We anticipated a hedgehog here,” Knocke tapped an area north-west of Dagersheim
,
marked by a rise in the ground and shielded by a small watercourse, “And artillery have their orders to hit them hard.”

It was designated ‘
Leningrad
’.

Uhlmann nodded along with Von Arnesen, the latter being more concerned as his 1st RdM
’S 2nd Battalion
was tasked with clearing the position.

The tank r
egiment commander pondered for a
moment, and his
reflection brought some good news for Von Arnesen.

Uhlmann addressed Knocke with his suggestion.

“Sir, I was keeping hold of my self-propelled guns as an additional reserve. I can move them up behind the infantry’s advance to provide direct support if you
wish
?”

There was never any chance that such an offer would be turned down
,
so Uhlmann’s 5th Company of Sturmgeschutz III’s and IV’s was re-tasked.

Outside
,
some 20mm Flak weapons started to hammer out
,
but the firing soon ceased as whatever it was disappeared from sight.

The noise provided no opportunity to talk
,
so those present took the opportunity to
examine the map to
ensure they were fully acquainted with the plan.

The senior officer from ‘
Alma
’ wiped away a trickle of blood from his forehead bandage, a trophy of a vehicle accident during the night march.

Lieutenant Colonel
Lange
was an unknown quantity to those in the room, his military credentials unproven
.
Whilst
his service
in the 17th SS Panzer-Grenadiere Division ‘Götz Von Berlichingen’ had apparently been spectacular, it had also been brief, his war ending when he was captured by US forces during the Battle of Mortain on 7th August 1944.

His 5th RdM was tasked with opening the southern side of the breach, supported by the other ‘
Alma
’ unit, the 3rd Legion
Reconnaissance
Compagnie.

Knocke had also assigned the self-propelled guns of the 1st AT Battalion to support Lange
,
should he need them. JagdPanthers, JagdPanzer IV’s
, and two Nashorne
s would deal with any enemy tanks encountered, and the recon photos showed none whatsoever.

Knocke had retained some units under his command, ready to respond
to
an emergency or reinforce success, whichever one visited the battlefield that day.

A wave of relaxation seemed to sweep the
officers group
,
as all realised that the planning was over and that their
new
war would start very soon.

They moved out into the main room.

It was 08:45
,
and the headquarters was a hive of activity; last minute checks, orders being confirmed, the mechanics of war smoothly operating prior to the attack. However,
a
stillness
fell upon the room
,
as staff officers hard at work realised that the senior officers had completed their private discussion
,
and that the Brigade Commander was now stood on the briefing podium
,
silently waiting for their attention.

Those who knew him well could see the tiredness and strain sitting heavily upon the man.

K
nocke, resplendent as always in his crisp black tankers jacket, his medals catching the eye and confirming his quality, looked down on his men with proud eyes and, when all had stopped around him, he began.

“Meine Herren, the time is upon us when we will atone for the wrongdoings of recent years. Not necessarily our own, or those of our country
,
but
certainly
those of the political leadership.”

Knocke softly gestured around the room as he continued.

“We fought long and hard, with comradeship and bravery, but we fought to preserve a
political
system that brought our country, and this world, to the brink of an abyss.”

The pause was heavy with widespread but unspoken thoughts of comrades
, men
who died
in
furtherance of that cause, that leadership, that political
system. The voice grew in firmness and conviction.

“No man here has anything to reproach himself for
,
as you all fought with vigour and courage.”

Knocke reinforced that message with his piercing look a
t any who gave him eye contact.

Strongly he continued.

“But no matter how honourable we felt the cause for which we fought, or the pride with which we carried arms for our country, we must all now accept that there will be a price to pay before we, and the Fatherland, can again stand tall and take our rightful place in world affairs.”

More softly
,
and with full knowledge of the meaning of his words
,
he went on.

“The stain can only be removed by the further sacrifices of our nation.”

He left that statement hanging for a moment
,
and then raised his voice strongly once more, driving into the substance of his exhortation.

“We have been given the chance to bear arms once more
,
and now stand side by side with our former enemies, united with the French, British and Americans in a common cause.”

“Today
,
we lead an attack and start the bloody process that will start to roll back the communists
,
and ultimately secure the future of our Fatherland,
Europe
and the world.”

Nodding as he spoke
,
Knocke pressed on forcefully.

“On this battlefield a change will be made
,
and communism will know a defeat.”

“There will be other days, in other places; hard days for us all.”

A moment of silence and reflection.

Knoc
ke nodded to himself, his mind acknowledging the future sacrifices that would be demanded of his troopers.

“But this Brigade, all of us...”

He paused
to gather himself
.

Every man felt the electricity of the moment.

“I,” a strange crackle of emotion affected the
commanders’
voice, “Will not rest until the day this war is won.”

The moment passed and
Knocke's
voice steadied.

“Some of us will die, as many of our comrades have already done on countless battlefields these last few years. But all of us will live on, remembered for what we do now
,
and the way we in which we do it.”

Stopping abruptly
,
the listeners heard his words softly echo round the room as Knocke gathered himself for his final words. He gently gesticulated around the group, singling out no man, encompassing all.

“Each of us knows that this must be done.”

“Each of us knows what is required of us.”

“Each of us knows what it may cost.”

And with a smile and real fire in his eyes
,
Knocke ventured.

“And yet, none of us would change places with others in safer
places,
eh?”

The gentle, relaxed laughter was not forced
,
but came naturally from men confident in their cause and leader.

“Now, Kameraden, truly, for the new European order, and for the Fatherland, let us do all we can
,
so that we can all go home again.”

Knocke punched the
next
words out so they
would have the desired effect.

“Meine Herren” and the officers, as one, shot to attention. His tone softened but remained powerful. “Meine freunde, you are the best of the best, and it is an honour and privilege to command you.”

His crisp military salute was returned by the entire room.

“Good luck to you all.”

Watches were synchronised and the
senior
officers dismissed
to their commands
.

Lavalle offered his hand to Knocke and, not for the first time, the two shared a
warm
handshake.

“Ernst, I am off to get the rest of the Corps moving. If I can offer you anything else today then I will let you know
,
but I doubt it.”

Knocke shrugged, reconciled to the fact that the other units of the Corps would not be up for some time to come.

“Stay in touch
,
and good luck.”

They saluted each other and Lavalle left, mounting his staff car and speeding away.

Knocke was alone, all the staff engaged on last minute preparations.

He lit a cigarette.

Blowing the smoke over the map he saw it cling and roll, gently moving over the roads and contours, almost as the smoke of a battlefield.

His mind wandered over his capture by the French and the abomination of the
Rheinweisenlager
. His first meeting with
Lavalle
,
and THE conversation.

‘Well, here we are now.’

When the proposition of teaching Allied soldiers had been discussed
,
he had agreed, expecting to be a classroom soldier until the Allies had no further use for him.

The Chateau on the 6th of August had changed that idea.

‘What is it the English say? Once again to the breach?’

Stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette, he strode to the full-length mirror to check his uniform.

The new armband drew critical attention, feeling both so wrong and so right in equal measure.

He fingered his throat decorations and ensured the ‘Pour-le-Merite’, was foremost.

Completing the ensemble, he placed the dark blue Kepi on his head, and paused to take in the figure before him.

Nodding
his approval
to the reflection, he turned smartly and left the room, his command tank starting up with a brusque instruction from
Lutz,
his NCO
signaller
,
when he saw
the Colonel approach.

The original concept of the Legion units had been to form ex-SS troopers under the command of French Officers. The plan never got off the ground, especially as existing French officers did not necessarily have the skill sets required to direct tanks in action.

Pragmatic as ever, the French had understood that the
Waffen SS leadership would do the job for them, and so the units formed under mainly German command.

The attempt to relieve
Stuttgart
commenced under the
direction
of Colonel Ernst-August Knocke, whilst the most senior French officer in the Brigade was a Major.

It
was
a simple enough task
, now
Kowalski
had declared himself
. His every move was microscopically observed and recorded, and
all
those he associated with, however briefly, received their own dedicated team
s
.

Whilst
Etienne
Bossong welcomed the additional clientele that visited his wine shop, he remained unaware of the scrutiny he was under,
a scrutiny that became more
focussed
when one of ‘Deux’s’ bright sparks made the connection with the Chateau du Haut-Kœnigsbourg.

Irma Schmidt, girlfriend of the ‘Polish’ Major
,
and one-time Luftnachrichtenhelferinnen, was given a clean bill of health
,
but
still
the watchers kept watching.

The same could not be said for Georges Heppel, a
n
hotel worker with
deeply
hidden but impeccable connections to the pre-war French Communist Party,
nor for
Heinz Rüssel, a one-armed German baker
,
whose fath
er was found to be a Spartacist.
M
ost certainly not for
octogenarian
ex-army Colonel
Christian Löwe
, who had a previously unknown and decidedly unhealthy interest in powerful broadcasting equipment.